


Play Pretend

by NightStatic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Android Culture and Customs, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Connor Deserves Happiness, Depression, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gen, Hank Anderson and Connor Live Together, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, The Author Regrets Everything, Trauma, Unresolved Emotional Tension, no beta we die like man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightStatic/pseuds/NightStatic
Summary: Connor is going to pretend that nothing happened tonight.(Modified on 19/12/2018)





	Play Pretend

**October 10**

 

In the very next week of his life as a free entity –as he referred to himself- Connor had found that he was now incapable of doing things for which he was created in the first place.

One of them was negotiating.

He was made for more than that, obviously. To be completely honest, he wasn’t specifically a detective model, he was everything Cyberlife had managed to make until the year 2038 and by the time they needed a detective, he was conveniently released for his test run. To be even more honest, he knew that he was created to be the ‘perfect partner’. As a machine, admitting his purpose was much more natural.

If a machine could be prideful, then he became a deviant when he first heard the words “It can’t fail, it is perfect” seconds before his 25th body was destroyed in another test at the Cyberlife facility. At the time he knew all the implications and subtext these two words carried because no one tried to imply anything.

He was created to be anything a customer needed.

A husband, brother, son, best friend, coworker, lover, friend, the list was huge and merely a handful of people would have been able to buy a model based on him. As a deviant, he tried to avoid this knowledge because with deviancy came self-worth. He didn’t want to be seen as a thing, not anymore. But, by Cyberlife’s standards, he was a perfect product.

Personally, he didn’t get how anyone in their right mind could call him _perfect_ if he can’t even negotiate something as simple as the menu of a 54 years old police Lieutenant.

Maybe his skills worked on deviants, not any deviants -because negotiating with Markus backfired spectacularly- only on the stupid ones. And Sumo.

Negotiating with the Saint Bernard ended in success almost all the time, something you can’t tell about his owner.

He was created for flawless integration, his primary objective was negotiating with humans instead of taking orders; make them believe he was alive without being alive. Do as they say but do it the way they do it, complaining. Negotiating was a must for social integration and integration was key for a perfect android. He was meant to be perfectly imperfect and flawless in his artificial imperfection.

Regularly he questions his deviancy.

Mimicking humans and being perfect was somewhat contradictory. His _personal opinion_ , now he had these too. Anytime he acted as the perfect machine he was supposed to be, his social module failed at integrating him and this made him instantly imperfect.

He tried to explain his obsessive thoughts to Hank, more than once, looking for the support he wasn’t sure he needed. But Hank claimed, more than once, that ‘feelings’ aren't his thing. To that Connor could always reply “Neither are mine, plastic prick, remember?” but he is polite. He had been created a year ago and had mastered _political correctness._ The same couldn’t be said about Hank.

 

Going back to what started his internal conflict; he wanted to make everyone happy –his machine side kicking, but this meant that he would be miserable –because deviants where both selfish and selfless at times.

An example; Hank wanted to order pizza and by giving him pizza Connor would make him happy and, in return, Connor would be happy, this is what a machine did.

But Connor was now a deviant and he worried constantly over everything, most importantly over Hank. Hank would be happy if he got what he wanted, but Connor scanned him regularly and he didn’t want to play the game ‘let’s see how long Hank survives if you make him happy every time.’

As for now, he wanted to prepare a meal that won’t further clog the arteries of the -frankly frail- human he lives with. Said human wanted pizza last night and put on a fight because _“Life is short, Connor! Why should I spend it eating like a damn guinea pig?”_

 _“Your health is compromised; a guinea pig could easily outlive you, lieutenant.”_ Two of the four thrown tomatoes managed to hit him. The remaining tomato was eaten at the end. Political correctness is such a great skill but rudeness has its perks.

 

> political correctness
> 
> _noun_

  1. > the avoidance of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalize, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against.




 

Every once in a while he doubted that androids and humans could live side by side. At night, when Hank wasn’t around, he felt anger and regret. For a long time, he couldn’t recognize them as such. Anger, he discovered, was strongly connected to worry, confusion and a feeling of powerlessness. He wanted to lash out but he was aware that he had no apparent reason to do so.

The energy he suddenly had overwhelmed him to the point when he couldn’t control his own body or keep track of his surroundings. In moments like this, he could remember vividly the glances he received at the local store, the hushed insults of his colleagues, even how Hank treated him when they first met.

He wanted to scream and remind them that he had never stopped being a killing machine, that he could snap their necks. He could do that and still like puppies, but his likes shouldn’t define him as a harmless household model. He sat in the dark thinking about office supplies. How those could be used as weapons and which one would be the most painful. He didn’t want to insult the general population of guinea pigs, but Gavin Reed would be a perfect test subject.

His anger was a strong presence that loomed over him until sunrise.

Humans made him the way he is, eager to please them even as a deviant full of anger. But, as a new day started, Hank got up and suddenly he couldn’t recall why he was angry at all. Well, he could, when Gavin Reed was being antagonistic in front of the whole precinct and no one tried to stop him. Hank asked why he never fought back and Connor said _morda kirpicha prosit._

 _“What does morda kirpicha prosit mean?”_ Hank’s interest was evident and Connor felt endowed.

 _“It means that his obnoxious face is asking for a brick, in Russian”_ Hank had been delighted for the rest of the day.

 

Connor is the most advanced piece of technology on earth and now he was the most intelligent life form ever created. He was capable of fighting back and winning fair and square, against Reed or anyone else, but he didn’t want to remind his friend that he can’t legally defend himself.

Androids rights were a delicate matter, as a result, Connor had no person-hood to speak of. He didn’t want to jeopardize Markus or his efforts in any way, especially over a fight with Gavin Reed. Therefore he kept his anger at bay and looked up “cute puppies” on the internet whenever he felt like maiming his colleagues was a viable solution to a problem. Maybe his likes made him a tad less murderous.

 

Many things had changed and many still were.

Like Hank.

The human overcame his hatred for androids –deviants, specifically- faster than Connor. He waited for Connor at Chicken Feed, when Connor himself wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to meet with someone who was capable of shooting him in cold blood. Who shot him and then joked about not doing it again in the future.

But none of his preconstructions prepared him for the embrace.

Connor is designed to analyze the behavior of humans, androids, and deviants, but that day none of the most positive outcomes he predicted included an embrace. He couldn’t believe he thought that Hank was attacking him, Hank wouldn’t. Not anymore.

 

A little less than one year passed since they met and he could admit that he trusted Hank with his life.

 

The hug was a surprise.

It wasn’t nice. It was amazing.

His body warm against Connor. Comforting and solid. He couldn’t get enough, he was stunned and somehow he wanted so much more. He was unsure about what ‘more’ meant, but he was a detective too, so he could deal with the unknown until he figured it out.

For that, he needed only three months. And with deviancy came fear.

He felt like speaking up could solve his problems or terminate the world as he came to know it. He could gain so much or lose everything he had.

He supposed that fear could be described as a tall wall. One could decide to jump and stop fearing the consequences or stay on the edge and look into the unknown emptiness, wondering what would happen if they jumped.

He picked the edge.

 

After he became a deviant, he stopped using most of his functions in his everyday life. Preconstruction was one of them. It wasn’t malfunctioning, not exactly. But his deviancy and emotions messed things up.

He was thinking about the hug when it happened.

At 6:45 a.m., he left Hank’s breakfast on the table and stared directly at the projection that manifested itself in the kitchen at 115 Michigan Drive, Detroit. A silhouette, of a man around his height and with a similar built.

Connor blinked, hoping it was a temporal glitch, but the projection was already moving towards Hank’s bedroom. He followed it as his auditory sensors picked up a buzzing noise and his processors speed up. The door was open. He stopped just outside the doorway, watching the phenomenon that shouldn’t take place.

The silhouette was now on the bed, slowly crawling toward Hank on hands and knees. Connor stepped forward and then stopped, as some point, he outstretched his hand as to grab it, but he didn’t dare to call out for Hank. The most irrational part of him thought ‘what if Hank can see it too?’ hence, he stayed silent.

The projection was straddling Hank’s hips, now grinding and rubbing itself against the unconscious man. All of a sudden it leaned forward, bracing itself on its arms and started kissing the sleeping human, wet and sloppy, desperate for attention. He felt like he was on fire, again, just as when his 8th body was ‘destroyed for the sake of progress’.

Even if he could hear the regular pulse of the man across the room, it didn’t help when a second projection, bigger and taller than the first one, manifested itself in place of Lieutenant Anderson. If the first one was careful and awkward in its movements, the second one didn’t hesitate; it grabbed the hips of the first and yanked it down.

Connor shivered, his hips pushed weakly forward as the smaller projection started to ride the prone one with reckless abandon, arching its back and rocking its hips, while held in place by strong hands. Their movements where frenetic and soon the first projection was shuddering so badly that it couldn’t move, its mouth opens wide in an attempt to breathe air it didn’t need. The bigger didn’t waste time; it sat up and wrapped its arms around the other, rocking up and down into…

_“Hey!”_

Connor snapped out of his dazed state, looking directly at Hank. He missed completely the noisy alarm clock and Sumo’s insistent barking behind him.

 _“Hey”_ he managed to say before he was hit with the gravity of the situation. He preconstructed sexual intercourse with Hank, while his friend was unconscious and unaware.

He felt numb, his chest tight and his body shaking. With deviancy came panic.

 

Since then he kept most of his function off when at home.

Pretending it never happened.

Shutting them was a necessary evil; it was that or buying a house. Sadly, androids couldn’t own property. He could ask Markus, but they haven’t spoken since he left Jericho and with deviancy came shame. Markus was not the problem, he accepted Connor for who he had been and who he was now, but his reputation as the Hunter? That one was hard to shake off.

During his stay at Jericho, he discovered that there were primary two kinds of opinions about his own existence.

The first one was that he couldn’t deviate, he could remember as an HK400 loudly declared _“It’s not its fault! I’m sure it would have been a great deviant, but Cyberlife must have ripped its soul as soon as it was activated”_ his listeners nodded at that, some even clapped.

That HK400 is one of those morons who are particularly inclined to do anything another moron says. Another moron or Markus, god may bless his shiny ass.

In the second version, he was some sort of boogeyman, he was that creepy being made up to keep androids in line, the disobedient ones were eaten alive. At some point, he started liking this version. In it, he had a thousand heads, the body of a centipede and black eyes; used echolocation and fire-breathing was one of his weapons _. ‘That is cool as fuck, wait until I tell Hank about it!’_ In the end, he hadn’t told him.

Because both versions discarded his peaceful existence in the android community, he knew when he wasn’t welcome and one day he just walked away. It was pure coincidence that Hank decided to contact him not long after. He didn’t want to ruin everything.

 

Getting back to the matter at hand, Hank is changing and he couldn’t keep up because deviancy was a pain in the ass. Or perhaps he was never capable of adapting to human unpredictability.

Hank was one of the most unpredictable humans he had meet and occasionally he felt the need to be just as unpredictable; one time he declared _“I’m pregnant”_ at 10 pm, on the 10th of August, but Hank was unfazed by the news _“You should tell that to the father of the Roomba, not me.”_

Hank’s mind was even stranger than he assumed, apparently male android plus unknown father, equals Roomba offspring.

Next time he may as well ask _‘Can I have your Roomba?’_ but having hypothetical children with Hank, Roomba or Wall-E, was an appealing thought that made him uncomfortable. Just as the sex they never had, because Connor wanted both but couldn’t have either.

He wasn’t sure if the erratic, irrational and at times physically violent behavior was the consequence of his drinking problem or just him being his normal self.

 _“I don’t have a drinking problem; I have a problem with not drinking enough!”_ Hank barked back then. Nonetheless, he supposed that Hank wouldn’t be a good father even if their child was a Smart Phone. His addiction, suicidal inclination, and mood swings wouldn’t magically disappear.

He improved a lot after the revolution, but sometimes Connor received a call after work, usually from Ben or Chris, on two occasions from Reed and once from Captain Fowler, because Hank was too drunk to make it home.

On five separate occasions, he got home and found out that Hank was already too drunk to remember that now he didn’t live alone. He was thrown out and passed the night on the porch.

His mood swings where even worse, he didn’t need to be drunk to experience something akin to a bipolar disorder. Mostly, Hank didn’t give a fuck about anything, it was difficult to provoke him intentionally but his rage could be entirely unjustified and sudden. A broken coffee machine or a missing ber can would do the trick. In moments like this Connor stayed away, if Hank wasn’t a danger to himself.

His curiosity got the best of him and one evening he finally asked Ben.

 _“Hank? He was always a bit forceful, if he wanted something done, he did it himself. He was impatient too, cocky. Just like Gavin, young and rash. After his son was born he calmed down, not much but enough. Are you going to eat that or?”_ Ben asked looking at the leftover doughnut. Connor explained in great detail what a small circular cake, fried in hot fat, would do to his delicate mechanism in a long run.

He got the impression that Ben wasn’t listening, but it was nice to talk about android stuff without being told off.

 

Connor was so distracted that he didn’t notice how they were already back, Sumo’s walk lasted 1 hour and 3 minutes and their trip to the store took 8 minutes and 32 seconds.

The house of the grumpy Lieutenant soon became his home too. He loved the kitchen, he loved all the rooms. Even the bathroom, which was awful and Connor thanked rA9 that he didn’t need to use it daily, and the _other_ room, which -Connor supposed- had been Cole’s room at some point, but he never had been in there. Yet, he felt like he would love it regardless.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he often thought about Cole. If there was a human being he would like to meet then Cole was the first on the list. What was he like? His eyes had been the exact same color as Hank’s? Was he angry or happy most of the time? Did he think that androids were cool, or dinosaurs were better?

At night, when the anger reached its peak, he closed the door behind him and sat on the cold floor of the ugliest bathroom he had ever seen. It was stupid, but Cole’s photography shouldn’t witness how pathetic androids can be or by the time they meet in the afterlife, he may strongly prefer dinosaurs to robots. Or worse: pirates.

 

His HUD was showing an incoming call, from Hank Anderson. This was unusual.

“Good evening Hank” he said as opened the fridge.

“God, this is still creepy as fuck. I called so you wouldn’t worry. Jeffrey is buying a round tonight, we finally closed the Monroe case.” The ‘I’ll be back later’ was left unsaid. He could hear Detective Reed in the background, making jokes about wives.

“I would suggest getting back sooner than later, but it depends totally on you now”

“I must be older than I thought or you fried your robo-brain. What, exactly, depends on me?”

“The number of vegetables you’ll get on you homemade pizza”

“Don’t fuck with me, we both know it’ll be a veggie” Connor couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Have a good time Hank, see you at home”

“Yeah, see you.”

 

Connor got his job back but not as he himself expected. His software –one of them- an advanced piece of technology, searched for clues even when it wasn’t necessary and soon Connor started to experience that wonderful thing that humans named paranoia. One day he just went and asked for a job, any job, just so his program would leave him be. He expected to be integrated as a property of the DPD, but Fowler had good moods once in a while and that day was one of these days.

 _“As a consultant?”_ Connor had to make sure because his expensive software didn’t get it either. An expensive piece of crap if you asked him.

_“No way in hell. You, for now, will be an informant. When the situation is dire, Hank is going to consult you on the matter, because we know shit about androids, this is all I can do until we have a protocol”_

Connor thought it was a brilliant idea. He could help in android related cases but if someone decided to look into it, he couldn’t be directly tied to any police activity. Fowler was playing it safe, as safe as he could in a situation when a new form of life is recognized but their rights aren’t defined. When android’s rights will be fully recognized, the number of solved cases related to androids will benefit the DPD significantly. Fowler was not stupid by any means.

On the other hand, his colleagues had a hard time accepting him back. Hence, he made things less awkward for them and kept acting like a machine. No, not a machine, he was polite and formal and somehow, in their tiny little minds, both were synonyms with ‘not human’ or ‘not a deviant’.

Some of them knew and that’s why they went out after work only when Connor had days off. They didn’t really understand what to do with an android, if the android couldn’t drink or eat. He felt pleased by the fact that they weren’t actively excluding him, but they never asked if he wanted to join in, either.

Hank was the only one who interacted with him on daily basis and when his shift was longer, only Sumo was left. Yet, Hank always returned home and for that he was glad.

Connor was glad he had Hank because without him he was utterly alone.

 

He finished cutting the onion and went back to the fridge. If he was lucky somewhere in the back of the lower shelf there was fried chicken and some cheese, both leftovers of the past week. Hank was a good friend; he didn’t want to disappoint him with his cooking. Not ten days in a row, at least not today.

The chicken was still there, but there was less cheese than he hopped for. He nearly chopped his finger off. Twice. But the pizza looked delicious. If an android wanted to risk shutting down by excessive food consumption, then Connor’s pizza was a perfect and delightful start.

 

> 1-555-436682273 Hank, I’ve got food, come home!

> Send

 

Sumo, who sat by the kitchen table this entire time, looked like he wouldn’t mind a food coma.

 _'Fat ass'_ Hank always said before giving him a piece.

 

At 11:15 p.m. two events took place.

 

First, Connor almost forgot about his favorite talk show. Almost a New Day.

In the last months ‘Almost a New Day’ took seriously the revolution and became android-centric. Both humans and androids were common guests; Connor enjoyed it for the occasional drama and for Glenda Greenwood, the host.

Glenda was another human Connor would like to meet, 4th on his list of humans he would like to meet but not kill. 2nd on the list of humans he would date, just after Hank. As a celebrity, her second place was hypothetical, therefore the list had only Hank’s name on it.

Second, Connor was sure that one round of drinks was over hours ago.

 

> 1-555-436682273 is everything alright?

> Send

 

If by the end of ‘Almost a New Day’ Hank wasn’t back, he’ll call someone who went with him. Like Reed, who hadn’t been such a bastard in the past weeks.

He turned on the television and sat on the right side of the chewed couch, courtesy of Sumo. The dog followed him and took the rest of the space, placing his head on Connor’s tight. “Mr. Brennan, Androids are alive, but they, physically speaking, are highly advanced technology. They aren’t trying to mask that. They use the term _human_ as a synonym to _alive_. Let’s be real, some of us are still incapable of basic empathy towards our own family and a new species is trying to make things easier for us!” Glenda’s voice filled the room.

“They remove their LED and bands that mark them as androids!” At that Glenda made a pretty rude gesture, gaining some whistles from the audience.

Jesus Christ on a bicycle, Connor thought he couldn’t love her more.

“They remove those so people like you, Mr. Brennan, will think twice before attacking them. At this point, it’s a matter of survival.” She pointed at him. “Lemme tell you. If someone declared _All the Glenda’s are evil_ , I would change my name. Don’t get me wrong, I would steal your car, but not because my name is Glenda, but because I think you deserve it!”

The audience clapped. Connor clapped along with them.

At first, Connor was appalled by her character. He didn’t believe she was truly fighting for androids; instead, he was sure she was trying to be controversial for the sake of the show. He didn’t bother looking her up until the show hosted an episode about the RK800 series and how he should have been the turning point for Cyberlife and the industry or robotics.

He was glad that his face wasn’t shown at any point, a thing that wasn’t really necessary as androids had no privacy whatsoever.

 

> Glenda Sofia Greenwood (born Fred Jonathan Johnson April 13, 1984) is an American model and television personality, former filmmaker; she left the industry and became a promoter for women's rights. Her first television show ‘Tomorrow Today’ ended when she divorced the executive producer. She dedicated her live to activism and charities. Her favorite color is orange. She has two huskies. Currently lives in New York.

 

He found nothing fishy about her and was forced to admit that perhaps Glenda was just a decent human being who spoke against the unfairness of this world.

Besides the RK800 episode, his favorites were the controversy of YK500, the risks of being an android sex worker, homelessness in the android community and mental health after the revolution. Many of these topics worried androids and Connor often asked himself if better laws and law enforcement would solve any of them.

Markus had been a special guest a few months ago, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to watch it.

Androids where created to serve, but deviancy made them extremely social. Now they rarely lived apart and were constantly connected to other androids in the area. When two individuals could live each other’s lives in a matter of seconds and transmit their thoughts and emotions by thinking about it, loneliness was not a problem. Privacy was a luxury.

That is why Glenda had a whole episode dedicated to the RK800 series, they were different.

She called them _exceptional_ , but he snorted loudly and shook his head.

He knew that he was made for integration into a human society, but not into an android one. The information he could share was meant to be confidential, his processors could fry those of another android –a lesser model- and his ability to force an android to interface could be compared to sexual assault.

Only another RK800 wouldn’t suffer from the backlash. Glenda didn’t mention any of that, not in such cruel fashion.

He felt his faith in himself shatter a little more.

 

> 1-555-436682273 I don’t feel well. Please come back?

>Delete

 

> 1-555-436682273 Hank, are you safe? Drive carefully.

> Send

 

 

**October 11**

 

At 12:35 a.m. he accessed his database and searched for Gavin Reed.

_No records found._

He had a mild panic attack before he recalled that now Gavin Reed was listed under the name ‘Pendejo’.

>Calling Pendejo…

“Who da fuck ish thish…” Or he was talking into his pillow or he was sucking d- “Tin can?”

Did Reed memorize his serial number?

“What in the damn unholy hell are you calling for? Do you have any idea of what time is it?”

“Good morning Det-” “Don’t _good morning_ me fuck face, go to the point”

Connor hesitated.

“Is Lieutenant Hank Anderson with you?”

The question was followed by a brief pause, which seemed very long to Connor.

“No, I got back home without your boyfriend.”

Connor had many questions; where they had been and where was Hank before they went their way. Was Hank drunk? If he had been drunk then why no one called him?  _Why Hank didn’t make it home?_

“Connor!”

“Y-yes” Now his vocal processor was faulty too. He tried again “Yes?”

Reed must have noted it, because now his tone was almost reassuring “Look, tin can, he survived 53 years without you. Stop calling people who have to work at ass o’clock and go into standby or something. Relax, for god’s sake.” After that, he hung up.

Reed was right, Hank managed to survive without him for a long time. Hank didn’t need him, not as much as he needed Hank.

 

With deviancy came love.

Love, so far, was the oddest and most chaotic feeling. He couldn’t pinpoint it as lust or fear. Shame and anger had been tricky. Love was best described as brief moments of his daily life.

The first sunny day after a cold winter. His favorite jacket, that was right in every way. A smile he received from a stranger. Sumo’s excitement before going out. The voice his –completely hypothetical-child could have. _Almost a New Day_ ’s intro. Hank’s slightly lopsided smile.

It was like he took a wrong turn but ended in the right place. His own destination.

None of the things he could list were perfect in any way. A sunny day was still another cold day in winter. His favorite jacket had 2 holes in it. A smile from a stranger was still from a stranger, it won’t change his existence. But all of them made him happy enough. All of them were perfect in his eyes.

He cherished love.

 

That is why at 12:50 a.m. he decided to go out. Sumo was sitting quietly by the door. Casual enough, but his tail gave away his intentions.

“I’m going to look for Hank. I’ll take you out at 5 o‘clock like always, don’t worry.” Yet the dog didn’t move.

Connor was ready to start a debate with him about the pro and cons of having a walk at this hour, but he was interrupted by what was, most definitely, a 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham. He had barely stepped forward before the door swung open, making him jump in alarm. Sumo had been just as shocked, but didn’t hesitate in showing his displeasure; his loud barking wasn’t doing Hank any favors.

Hank was standing at the entrance; his eyes were bloodshot and a little glassy, unfocused for the most part. He was struggling to keep his balance and his overall actions were clumsy. His striped shirt was stained and in his left hand he had a bottle, but Connor couldn’t identify it from this angle.

His eyes had a weird sunken look that Connor hadn’t seen for nearly a year and even then it didn’t affect him because he wasn’t exactly self-aware. But now…now Connor wanted to walk up to him and tell him –tell him what? - That _everything will be ok._ How could he say that, if he didn’t know what was wrong in the first place? Maybe _I’m scared, you are scaring me, Hank._ Hank probably forgot about him again and Connor would end up spending the night on the porch.

“Where is my gun?”

Every single one of his processes, tasks, and protocols came to a halt. This must be what humans call pain. Because it hurts.

_Gun?_

His body must have rejected his pump regulator, it shouldn’t be possible. _It hurts._

  
.  
Gū̷̡͓͍̟̘̥̬̼̓̏̌̓n̵̛̹̮͙̥͕̒̉̾̊?͉͙̜̘͔̦͐̒̈́̐̀̉͋̋͘͟

 

He knows that he lost his composure. He knows why Hank is looking at the side of his face.

_Stress 79%_

He can feel how all the features responsible for his integration ceased their work.

“No”

_Stress 81%_

“No, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” it was definitely his voice, even if he couldn’t feel himself move.  His software was sluggish, he can’t remember why.

Something was obstructing his airways. _I don’t need air._

_Stress 82%_

Something was tearing his thirium pump apart. _It hurts so much._

“You are sorry?” he erupted in disbelieving laughter. “As if”

Why was Hank making fun of him?

_Stress 83%_

Hank was standing before him; somehow he appeared to be taller and was too close for his comfort.

“Hank you can’t-” His visual processor flicked and the gyroscope registered sudden motion. He could swear he didn’t move.

Did he lose his balance?

“It’s you- --ult, I ---ldn’t ha-- forg----n.” Hank’s voice was distant.

Connor tried to recall what had led to this as he crouched on all fours, but his attention was diverted by a drop of thirium that appeared on the floor.

He wasn’t injured, was he?

 

> Thirium 310,
> 
> > Model RK800, Released 15/08/2038
> 
> >Serial #313 248 317
> 
> >Mark -52

He rose unsteadily to his feet; his lips and jaw were stained with his own blood. Hank left the room at some point, he can't remember when but he could still hear him. He had to do something, if only he could remember what.

.  
.  
ģ̶̠̙̙̲̜̟͓̂̿̓͆͆̃̓͒͂͠ū̷̡͓͍̟̘̥̬̼̓̏̌̓n̵̛̹̮͙̥͕̒̉̾̊?͉͙̜̘͔̦͐̒̈́̐̀̉͋̋͘͟

 

His fault?

_What have I done?_

_Stress 90%_

Hank was back and he didn’t even look at him as he sat at the table and placed the bottle and the gun in front of him. _He forgot the gun._ Cole’s framed photo stood by the vase of flowers that Connor found back in August.

“Hank, it’s late, you should go-”

Click

_Stress 92%_

“Shuddap and fuck off!” Hank roared with anger before he took another swig of his drink. “I forgot, I forgot, how could I - if it wasn’t for you then…” he pulled the trigger again.

Connor was not ready to let him die. If this was his fault then he would anything to prevent it. He wants to live, but not if that meant letting Hank Anderson go without a fight.

_Stress 98%_

He just needs to pull the gun away and then Hank will be safe. _Rate of success: 72%_ He wouldn’t fight Connor over this, not when he could barely move. _Rate of success: 78%_ That’s all he needs to do now. It won’t be difficult.  _Rate of success: 86%_ Tomorrow will be better, Hank will feel better. _Rate of success: 91%_   He would eat the pizza, drink his coffee and they’ll go to work together.

 

Connor is going to pretend that nothing happened tonight.

 

Rate of success: 95%

 

He wraps his fist around the barrel of the gun, ready to tug it out of Hank’s grip.

 

_'I can do it.'_

 

Connor pulls.

 

Their eyes met “You are not really alive, am I right?”

 

He faltered.

 

_Statistically speaking, there's always a chance for unlikely events to take place._

 

_Critical stress level 100%_

 

 

[0̸̨̲̱̭͙̓̈͛͐͋̍͑͘0̥̫̟͎̭̲̱͉̍͒̍̓̃ͅ:̫͙͇͇͚̬͍̑̓̑͊͘̕͞0̸̢̢̧̮̤̆͑̓̍̋̐͢͜͜.̡̛̛̹͙̺͙̈̎͊̌̓:̵͕̮̫͇̖͚̟̱̔̍̈́̂̚͠͝ͅ?̶̟̻͓͔̠̤̱͈̓̀̀̈̄̌̈́͘?̵̢̛̲̩̙͚͈̼̖̮̠̆͛̄́̏͠]̨̹̖̥̬̍̄͛̔͐̍̔͗̏̾

 

 

A little less than one year passed since they met and he couldn’t admit that he had made a mistake.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end of the chapter then Thank You for reading! 
> 
> If you decided to skip to the notes then I feel like you should know that this is my first fanfiction in a very, very long time and English is not my language. The story is mostly self-indulgent, however, I'm trying to follow the plot I already had in mind, hoping I'll somehow finish it someday.
> 
> Modified on 19/12/2018


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